Page 76 of Taming His Vampire Mate
“Come on now, we both know that’s not true,” I replied gently.
All I wanted was to wipe his tears away.
Or—no.
Even more, I wanted to undo the years of pain that had made him believe he had to spend eternity alone, even surrounded by people he cared about.
“And for the record, I don’t hate you either.”
It didn’t come close to covering what I felt.
He swallowed hard. “That changes nothing between us.”
But I was pretty sure he was wrong.
Because everything felt different now.
For me, at least. And it probably always would.
After all, once a wolf falls for someone, we love them until our hearts stop beating.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE || THIERRY
If anyone had told me I’d ever be next to Jeremy, actually sitting in my feelings with him, I would have laughed them off. Or else politely give them the number for a hotline.
Because… no. Just no.
Except here I was, becoming a weepy mess after hundreds of years of icy stoicism. And all because he said he thought I was a good person. Someone he didn’t want to hurt. Which was rather silly.
But that wasn’t really why.
It was because he’d made me feel seen and understood in a way I hadn’t since Nicolas and I were young—long before either of us became vampires. Nathaniel and Simone were my oldest friends, but they never challenged the persona I projected, the one I half believed in myself.
First Michael, now Jeremy. I was getting soft in my old age.
And Jeremy said he didn’t want to hurt me. And I believed him. That was worse. I was in deep trouble, because I suddenly couldn’t remember whyIwas supposed to hatehim.
Even worse, Jeremy just sat there and let me process. He didn’t try to stop me from having my emotions—or, worse yet, make me talk until I was ready to set us both on fire to put an end to it.
After several minutes of silence, he got up, crossed the living room, and headed for my bathroom. A moment later, he came back with a wadded-up ball of toilet paper.
Mutely, he handed it to me.
I said nothing, but felt a tangle of relief, gratitude, and annoyance as I took the tissues and dabbed my eyes.
“They’re just ordinary tears,” he whispered, almost to himself. “Just like anyone else’s.”
I snorted. “You were expecting me to cry blood, weren’t you? You’ve seen too many vampire movies.”
He shrugged but didn’t answer. After that, he gave me another stretch of time—I don’t know if it was one minute or five—to collect myself. And I needed every second. I hadn’t cried in a very long time, and I wasn’t used to the jagged, wrung-out way it left me feeling.
“Fine,” I said at last, looking up. He was watching me steadily—not concerned or put off by my display of emotion. Instead, he was just sitting there in the discomfort with me. The bastard. I sighed. “I probably don’t hate you either.”
He smiled, and his eyes crinkled in a guileless way that set fireworks off in my stomach. I could feel the closeness thrumming between us, brought on by the strange intimacy of having dropped my guard and him not stepping on me for it. My standards were probably lower than they should have been.
“We’ll start there,” he said, a little ruefully. “I don’t hate you, and you don’t hate me.”
“I’m still not sure I like you,” I lied. Because the idea of him leaving—returning to his pack, who would surely need him before long—was already causing a sliver of anxiety in my gut. I’d grown too used to him, far too quickly.
